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Favorite Pasttime
One can't describe the feeling of catching a wild West Virginia Trout with a rod you built and a fly you tied.
My Favorite Blogs
Are we forgetful or is it apathy...or lack of observation
Autumn in West Virginia
As long as I can remember, fall has always been my favorite time of the year. As a kid I enjoyed summer and all that came with it just like most kids. As the change of the season brought a chill to the air and color to the leaves, so came a different attitude. Fall really shows off it's splendor in the southern mountains. Hardwoods and bright underbrush often can take your breath away. One doesn't need to go to New England for the colors. They are here. Just above my home was a worked out strip mine that ran the rim of the canyon from Piney all the way to New River. There was nothing I enjoyed more than to go to Table Rock and walk the fields of brown grass to the wood patches at the edge. Walking out of the fallen leaves always allowed me to sneak up on the squirrels working the Hickory and Beech trees. Back then landowners didn't mind you hunting and often would wave from the barn or house. I have given a lot of squirrels and rabbits away to them to insure that relationship. Conversations often went in the direction of how my parents were or where my brothers, that also hunted these lands, were stationed at the time. I knew with the onset of fall came all the festivities that went with it. Homecoming football games. The parade, and soon to follow was Thanksgiving which was always the earmark date to gather Pine and Holly for friends.
I drove over into Ohio this week to an Amish craftsman to make me a set of counter tops. The Ohio river is a geographical separation that's easy to notice. To the west is flat rolling farm lands and to the east the mountains start. Even the color is different. It's easy to see why it's called Almost Heaven. I have stood in the cold waste deep water of the Upper Shavers River and missed way too many hits on a drifting fly because I was distracted by the scenery. There are times I can close my eyes and smell the hot dogs from the concession stand at a Shady football game. I can smell the smoke from burning leaves coming across Beaver Creek and to my side of town. All it takes is a cool crisp morningwith a fog coming off the river, and I start that mental trip down the interstate and home. I'm always anxious for the first fire in the fireplace and those cold gray afternoons in the swing with a cup of coffee. I simply close my eyes and drift to Little Beaver lake or Grandview Park. I can find myself in an instant, sitting in the old hog lot on my mother's home place. A single shot shot gun, loaned to me by my Uncle Lacy, across my lap waiting for that streak of gray fur to show itself or hear the drum of a Ruffled Grouse. Fall will give way to bare trees and ice along the edges of the streams. Pumpkins will be harvested and all the corn stalks gone. But all I have to do is close my eyes and I smell those concession stand hot dogs and see that bright orange and yellow hog lot.
We have so often heard the saying .."take time to smell the roses". I hope my children take the time to stop and smell "A West Virginia Autumn" in the air. I have lived in places where they don't have the change we do. There is no color or air that can sting your nose it's so cool. I never want to be in a place such as that again. I know all too well what it's like to miss it. Even at my age, I see my grandchildren dressed for Halloween and I find myself walking the streets of Beaver, knocking on doors and making a point to walk in the leaves even if a sidewalk is there. We had no worry of tainted treats or violence. Maybe a toilet tipped over or a window soaped. But that was it. Pumpkins carved and lit. No plastic or foam ones done in China. You prayed for a moon and a chill. You were scared the moment you walked out the door. I loved it then and I love it now. For one night I'd love to go back in time with my granddaughters in tow, along with my children, and show them a coal camp Halloween.
The rain and wind today brought the leaves down. A dark sky announced what was soon to be a normal sight. Again I sat in the swing, watched the wind bring the leaves down to the river and create an artist pallet in midstream. The boat is covered. Firewood gathered and menus changed from summer to fall. My kitchen today smelled of chili and homemade bread. The coffee pot replaces the ice tea and I mentally plan projects I wish to do . Another year is almost passed. Another Autumn to spur my thoughts and memories of another day.
Memories of Another Day...
I was born and raised in the southern mountains of West Virginia in a small community just out side of Beckley by the name of Beaver. Beaver held a mixed culture of timber workers and Miners.
My mother was born and raised on Pinch Creek in a spot called Pluto. My grandfather on her side was a well known Postmaster as well as a store keeper. My father's family came from the Odd and Dunns area. My grandfather was a well known cabinet maker and carpenter. I can't even begin to guess how many saws he sharpened. He built some of the most beautiful church furniture in the Raleigh, Mercer and Summers county area. My father was a well known carpenter in and around Beckley. Some of the older beautiful homes were his craftsmanship.
I graduated from Shady Springs High School in 1967. A lot has happened since that summer. A war, marriage, jobs and children soon can slip into the distance between then and now. But the memories and the culture are still deep seated in my mind and heart.
For those that know me, and will soon know me, know of the love affair I have with this beautiful state of West "By God" Virginia. Each scene I take in never loses it's wonder. Each foggy morning on Cheat Mountain and the Upper Shavers still tugs at my heart and reminds me this is Almost Heaven. My heart still fills with emotion, and my mind begins to run once I start down the turnpike or I77. I was homesick the day I left. I still am after 40 years. It has changed ,just as most places do. Yet there is a magic about this state that will continue on. The first time I heard "Country Roads ", I was on temporary duty in Detroit, Michigan. I was on my to my billet from the base. It was a Friday night and half way through the song, I started grabbing gears in my new Dodge Challenger and headed right to West Virginia. I still get tears in my eyes each time I hear that song or hear my granddaughter sing it. God Bless the Blue and Gold. I was born a mountaineer and will die a mountaineer. I don't care what their record might be.
As a teenager, I worked at a grocery store in Beaver. Making deliveries to Flat Top, Raleigh, Table Rock, Redden Ridge, Cool Ridge, Ghent and the surrounding hollows, gave me an education that no price can be attached. I have sat in the kitchens of miners and farmers. I have drunk cold spring water with what some would label true Hillbillies...and I'm proud of it. I have watched the good Ol' boy politicians come in the store on Saturday morning and promise the sun, chewing on cigars that cost as much as most would make in a day. I fished Glade and Pinch Creek as well as Camp Creek. I was one of the few that could sit and talk to the local hermit and he always asked me to come back. The fact I shared a cut off my plug of Ol'Mule didn't hurt. I've hiked the ridges to New River Canyon and watched a fall of splendor come in a hickory grove. Each step much like a bookmark, each scene a burned in memory, that I so wish I could share with children and others.
My father didn't hunt or fish. He never had the time. But two gentlemen from Beaver took me under their wings when I was just a lad and taught me the art and skill of fly fishing. Just as those misty mornings and cool summer evenings never left me, neither has fly fishing and love of it all. Trout live in such beautiful places.
I hope over time to share some of these memories and events in my life. Mainly for my children and friends. But hopefully they will spur the same with those that might happen upon this blog and collection of thoughts.
I want to add to this introduction my appreciation for a dear friend in Oregon who has encouraged me to do this. One can not find a more beautiful and special southern lass. Dianne Campbell, I thank you so very much for all the help and instruction. I suggest anyone that wants to see such a wonderful talent and skill from such a beautiful woman visit her web site at http://www.patacakebabies.com/wordpress/. Her creations of newborn dolls are unbelievable.
To each of you who visit my blog, thank you and I do hope you enjoy it as much as I do sharing it with you.
